Dread: The Return of Gilderoy Lockhart
by hime-chan
Summary: NOTE: if you do NOT like Lockhart(he's my fave in Harry Potter), turn away NOW! If you DO, then this is the fic for YOU...! Chapter 6 is complete! If you like my fic(or if you don't, I don't care), please read and review!
1. Clouded World

Well here it is, my first fic. And it's Harry Potter! Please be kind in your reviews...   
  
  


Emptiness, was all he could feel and see. Looking around the dark tunnel, he couldn't see much in the way of life until he heard the sounds of conversation. To his left he heard a voice echo from a distance.   
"Do you think he's dead, Ron?" it asked.   
"I don't know." answered the second voice. "But you'd better hurry and find Ginny, Harry."   
Ron... Harry? The young man stood up but realized he couldn't stay up, and he fell to the ground. The boy with red hair approached him with an annoyed look on his face.   
"We'll stay here, all right Professor Lockhart?" he said, trying to sound patient.   
Professor Lockhart? Is he talking to me? The man thought. His face must have given something away because the boy called Ron looked at him funny, and then sighed.   
"The Memory Charm backfired. Well better you than us." he smiled smugly. "We'd better wait for Harry." and he took a seat next to Lockhart.   
Of this period of waiting, the man didn't remember much except that the waiting seemed endless. It felt like the day he had been born except... he was not an infant. He was a grown man. It was strange, almost frightening and the boy next to him wasn't helping much, just sitting there fiddling with something. He took a closer look at Ron's object and saw it was... a wand?   
"Hey! What's that?" Lockhart asked in a childish voice.   
"Don't touch it! It's broken anyhow!" Ron shouted.   
"Is that a... wand? Are you some kind of- magikan?"   
Ron looked at him as if he had lost his mind, and in a way, he had (literally). Taking advantage of this distraction, he grabbed the wand out of Ron's hand, shouting,   
"Abracadabra!!"   
What happened next was utterly surprising. There had been a bunch of rocks piled up to their left and at Lockhart's words, they all blasted into tiny pebbles. At his achievement, Lockhart grinned. This was a familiar feeling, a feeling of being proud of himself. He recalled experiencing it many times. It was strange...   
Ron was standing there gaping at the millions of pebbles, scattered across every inch of the dark tunnel. Then he grinned, slapping Lockhart on the back.   
"I didn't know my wand still worked but I guess that's the power of magic." he exclaimed.   
Magic? Surely there was no such thing! Lockhart contemplated the thought of a world filled with magic, but quickly dismissed the odd idea. Magic, wands, and exploding rocks? Fancy that!   
  
About an hour later, Lockhart heard a voice.   
"RON! RON!" it called as a dark figure approached the two with something perched on his arm.   
"Harry!" Ron exclaimed. "What is that?" As the boy came closer, Lockhart could see that he wore glasses and sported a lightning red scar on his forehead, covered slightly by his dark, unkempt hair.   
"It's a phoenix. Dumbledore sent it to help me defeat Tom Riddle and save Ginny." Just then, a little girl came out of the darkness with her wand lit up. Lockhart stared at them, all these children who knew where and who they were. He started staring into space from his spot against the muddied wall of the tunnel. He snapped to attention when the boy named Harry asked, "What's with him?"   
Knowing that they must mean him, Lockhart raised his head and stared into the inquiring faces.   
"Hey chaps! How're you doin'?" he asked in a friendly voice since, as he was listening to them, he had heard them talking as such.   
"His Memory Charm went against him. No smarter than a baby now, he is." Ron replied. Lockhart felt rather indignant; he was not as simple-minded as a baby. Rather than argue against them, he tried to strike up a conversation.   
"Not a very pleasant place, is this?" he said cheerily. However the boys turned their backs to him and whispered among themselves. After this moment of hushed talk, they turned back to him. Harry spoke.   
"Let's get out of here. Ginny you go up first. Professor Lockhart-"   
"He means you." Ron said sharply, surprising Lockhart out of his thoughts. Harry delivered his instructions and the four set off down the tunnel. Lockhart spied a tiny trail of light at the end that grew larger as they advanced toward it. Then Harry pushed at the door, which had been open a crack and light blinded him. Lockhart was amazed. He had not known such brightness to exist before now.   
He soon saw the reason for the brightness; a crowd of people holding either torches or wands that lit up had filled the room. A short woman ran over to the little girl and started hugging and kissing her hysterically.   
"Ginny! Oh Ginny, thank goodness you're all right!" she said, tears streaming down her face. Lockhart glanced around as the crowd pressed in closer to the four of them, congratulating Harry and Ron on their bravery. All he could think about, though, was: What had really happened?   
Then the crowd parted and an old man with a long silvery beard and hair and a pair of half-moon glasses came through toward them. He was smiling so Lockhart didn't suspect anything from him.   
"Harry, come with me." the old man whispered. "And take Professor Lockhart." At the mention of his supposed name, he snapped his head up and looked into the old man's eyes. He caught Lockhart's gaze and smiled sympathetically.   
"Sure Professor Dumbledore." Harry positioned the phoenix on his shoulder and strode after the old man. Lockhart decided to follow as well since Dumbledore had suggested it. They walked down a long hall lit by torches along the stone walls. Up they went a long flight of stairs almost to the very sky where they ended with a door.   
Dumbledore opened the door and motioned for Harry and Lockhart to enter. Harry approached Dumbledore at this desk. They began talking in low voices as Harry's phoenix jumped onto a nearby perch.   
Lockhart, being bored standing near the door, gazed at the titles of some books. He was surprised that he could read, although he couldn't remember names, faces, people he knew once, or even his own name for that matter. Taking a book off the shelf, he stared at the title. Shapeshifting for Dummies. Thinking the book would be easy to read, he opened it and read the first page.   
It's bad enough I can't remember anything, but why does everyone have to play tricks on me? He thought. Lockhart put the book back on the shelf, sighing.   
"Hey you!" came a voice from behind him, making him jump. Spinning around, he saw no one but Harry and Dumbledore, and they apparently hadn't heard the voice.   
"In the picture, laddie!" the voice said impatiently. Lockhart looked into the picture and saw a photograph of an old man in long black robes.   
"Hi, ya genius." the man said mockingly.   
"You... um..." Lockhart wasn't sure what to say. The old man in the picture sighed.   
"Must be Muggle-born." Lockhart stared. What WERE these people? All dressed in long, dark robes and tall pointed hats. They must be... wizards!   
He looked around, suddenly afraid. These wizards and witches must have put a spell on him to make him lose his memory. What if they had worse plans in mind for him? He glanced back at the picture but the wizard inside it was gone. Lockhart felt the boy Harry brush past him and depart, leaving him alone with Dumbledore.   
For a moment he was scared to be alone with a wizard, but as he looked into Dumbledore's kind, smiling eyes, he knew he could be trusted. Just then, the old man began to laugh. Lockhart stared blankly at him, finding the situation of having his memory lost to be quite unhumorous.   
"Ah... Gilderoy, Gilderoy. I knew only you would go to such lengths." Dumbledore said as he shook his head, his silvery beard swaying side to side.   
Was he implying that it was my fault my memory was lost? Lockhart thought haughtily. For some reason, this little comment seemed to conjure a great hurt inside him. Not a great mental anguish, but a blow to his self-esteem, or his eg-   
"So Gilderoy, we should get you some help, right?" Dumbledore's voice pushed Lockhart out of his personal thoughts.   
"I guess so. But before I go, could you tell me-" Lockhart couldn't seem to finish.   
"Yes, I am a wizard. Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, at your service." he bowed deeply to show his sincerity.   
"This is a school? It looks more like an old medieval castle." Lockhart said.   
Dumbledore laughed merrily and Lockhart couldn't help but think that it was at his expense.   
"Actually if you were a Muggle, that's just what it would look like." he said, his eyes twinkling.   
"Please make sense for once!" yelled Lockhart in exasperation. Dumbledore clapped his hand on Lockhart's shoulder.   
"It will, once you've gotten some help." He led him down the long flight of stairs. Dumbledore kept surprising him by lighting torches that had gone out with his wand. The wizarding world must be great, Lockhart figured.   
As they walked down the hall Lockhart saw some kids staring at them. A school for children to learn magical heritage.   
"You were once a professor here, Gilderoy. Defense Against the Dark Arts, it was." Dumbledore told him. Lockhart tried to think of himself, teaching these young children something he knew absolutely nothing about.   
Soon he became aware that Dumbledore was leading him out the entrance doors. There was nothing out here. Then Dumbledore shouted.   
"Accio Carriage!" Then the wind began blowing the thick clumps of leaves in the trees. Lockhart held down his wavy blonde hair because for some reason, he couldn't stand the thought of it getting messy.   
Then came a magnificent sight. A carriage, drawn by six beautiful white horses, descended upon the road in front of them. The carriage, painted in gold and blue, was big enough to hold even the horses themselves. Lockhart felt like Cinderella, and Dumbledore was his fairy godmother (father, rather). He felt like getting out a hair comb and brushing back his mussed hair, as well as getting out of these wretched robes... ROBES! Lockhart realized that he must be a wizard too! Quickly he fumbled through his pockets and grasped a long, thin stick. Pulling it out, he saw it was a wand.   
"I'll get you luggage for you." Dumbledore tapped his own wand against his hand and was suddenly holding a suitcase. The name 'Gilderoy Lockhart' was pasted over the entire case. Lockhart couldn't help but think it was a precaution in case he really did forget his name. However something told him this was not the case...   
"Climb in Gilderoy. I wish you luck recovering your memories. I'm sorry that I can't accompany you- being Headmaster, I have my duties- but I will send someone else from Hogwarts to keep you company and speak for you in case you run into difficulties."   
Lockhart smiled appreciatively. He wondered who would be coming with him on the journey and even more, where he would be going.   
Just then, the entrance doors opened behind them with a mighty bang. A man with a large hook nose, greasy black hair, and menacingly dark eyes, wearing robes to match his hair, approached the two with swift strides, stopping next to Dumbledore.   
"Gilderoy, this is Severus Snape. He was one of your colleagues, the Potions Master for our school." Dumbledore introduced him. Snape looked pleased; as if he wanted Lockhart to leave. Brushing a hand through his unwashed hair (Gilderoy couldn't help thinking, How could he live with it?), Snape motioned his hand toward the carriage.   
"After you." he said coldly. Lockhart climbed into the carriage, Snape following soon after. Dumbledore waved the two off as the carriage leaped into the air galloping upwards.   
As Lockhart glanced out the window at the retreating figure of Dumbledore, he wondered what lay ahead. He turned to look at Snape, who was looking out the window as well.   
He certainly hoped this trip wouldn't take long.   
  
  



	2. The Ministry of Magic

By popular demand(OK maybe not popular or even demand), here is Chapter 2!!   


Lockhart sat, fiddling with his suitcase handle. He pretended to stare out the window, all the while glancing at Snape every so often. Snape appeared to be in deep thought but Lockhart couldn't stand the silence any longer.   
"Nice weather we're having, eh?" he said cheerily. Snape grunted in reply. Lockhart sat for awhile, thinking about what to say that would make Snape talk.   
"Do you know where we're headed?" Lockhart asked, confident that he would get an answer this time.   
"The Ministry of Magic. They'll figure out what to do with you." Snape tried to smile reassuringly, but all he could manage was a twisted grin, causing Lockhart to feel even more hopeless about his situation.   
"So... you teach Potions?" Snape nodded; he was quickly getting annoyed answering this idiot's questions.   
"Brilliant!" Lockhart exclaimed. "Do you have a potion that could bring memories back?!" He moved closer to Snape, who was pressed against the carriage wall.   
"No," he said through clenched teeth, "A Charm can only be reversed by another Charm."   
"Oh." Lockhart said disappointedly, backing away from Snape who let out a sigh of relief. Lockhart wondered who taught Charms at Hogwarts; that person should have been sent rather than this greasy git. He went back to gazing out the window.   
The scenery zipped by as the horse-drawn carriage drifted through the sky. After about an hour, Lockhart's eyes began to droop and he nodded off to sleep.   
When he awoke, it was to Snape's shoving and the condition of being on the floor. Sitting up, he glanced at his watch. His eyes widened when he saw that his watch was actually a tiny hourglass and underneath it a message displayed: 'At the Ministry of Magic.' It was now 6:30 AM. He had slept for the whole night.   
Snape pulled Lockhart to his feet roughly and pushed him toward the door, glad to get out finally. Even so, Lockhart walked slowly, so slowly that when Snape got out of the carriage, he crashed into Lockhart. He turned around and saw Snape sprawled on the ground.   
"Oh I'm sorry!" he apologized, helping a grumbling Snape to his feet. "I was just amazed at your Ministry of Magic Building." He gestured in front of him and indeed, the Ministry Building was a sight to behold.   
Made entirely of brick, it must have been ten stories high. Many pillars stood along the edge of the entrance, forming a covered walkway much like a cloister. Many people were sitting on benches that were on the grounds, chatting about business or the weather, sounding very cheerful for so early in the morning.   
Lockhart strolled by, waving to far-off people and greeting people who were closer. When he stopped to talk to a short, grey- haired wizard, Snape marched over and pushed him, still talking, through the enormous Ministry of Magic doors.   
The inside of the building was just as magnificent as the outside. The immensely high ceiling could have fit two giants, one standing on the other's shoulders, easily. In addition to the walls, the ceiling was made of the finest white ivory, so clear it was like a reflective mirror. Pillars, made of ivory and pure gold, gleamed in the corners of the spacious room. And people rushed about, past the two men, everyone with business of his own. Lockhart spied a woman holding a hen under her arm, and in her hand she held a strangely coloured egg. She looked obviously angry as she complained to one of the wizards behind the desk. Far off, a short wizard was holding a bottle marked "Growth Charm". He was shouting about how tall he used to be and about how the charm was defective.   
Lockhart looked down at his shoes. A Charm did this to me. I feel so helpless here, he thought. Rather than indulge in self-pity, he stood up straight and followed Snape, his heels clicking across the marble floor. Just then, he collided with a woman, causing her to drop her things. She had been holding a cage and unfortunately, the lizard inside it had escaped and was slinking away. Lockhart ran after it, but it was a quick little devil. He chased it here and there, feeling sorry for the woman who had to take care of it. Snape glanced Lockhart running here and there, chasing the reptile, and rolled his eyes in annoyance.   
Finally Lockhart managed to pounce on the poor creature and return it to the woman, who looked terribly distraught.   
"I hope he didn't bite you!" she said to him. "He's a highly poisonous species of lizard!" Lockhart dropped it in a hurry and it slithered into its cage. "Thank you anyway." she added as she left.   
Lockhart made his way back to Snape, who was grinning that twisted grin of his.   
"Oh shut up." Lockhart said grumpily, shoving his hands in his pockets. They began to make their way to the main desk when Lockhart felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning around, he saw it was the same woman.   
"Do I know you?"she asked simply.   
"No ma'am, we've never met before." he replied.   
"I know why! Because you're Gilderoy Lockhart! Of course! Wow, you look better in person than in your pictures. You know, I read all your autobiographies and I'm simply amazed at all the wonderful things you've done. Are werewolves really as vicious as you described in your books? How brave you are to try and take one on... and you don't even carry any scars, physical or emotional? You are such a strong man. Oh, and you won the Witches' Weekly Smile Award five times in a row? Or was it six? Do you get mobbed in the streets by women- oh! I'm doing it now, aren't I..."   
Lockhart listened patiently to this gabby woman. Had he really done all of these amazing things she described? He smiled at her, a smile that came naturally and easily.   
"Of course, when you taught at Hogwarts, my kid had you as a professor. I couldn't believe him when he said you were an awful teacher." she continued. Lockhart's grin vanished.   
"Oh well. Maybe I'm not cut out to be a teacher." he admitted.   
"Please don't say that!" the woman cried. "He's just a kid." However, Lockhart had a strange feeling that kids didn't like him. The two boys Ron and Harry were proof enough of that. How could he have ever been a teacher? Maybe he was a strict teacher... Uh! It was so frustrating to think about how his life used to be! He wished he could just run away from it all.   
"Is there anything wrong, Mr. Lockhart?" the woman asked with concern in her voice. Lockhart had forgotten she was there.   
"No, nothing."   
"May I have your autograph?" she asked all of a sudden, thrusting a pad of paper and an odd snake shaped pencil that would hiss at him every so often. Lockhart wondered if he could still write. Quickly, he scrawled the unfamiliar name of the even less familiar person he was supposed to be across the paper. She placed the paper and pencil in her purse.   
"You know, my friend saw you while you were signing copies of your autobiography last fall. I asked for one but she-" She was interrupted when Snape came up and bowed to her slightly.   
"Excuse me, miss," he said in his dark voice, "but Mr. Lockhart must really be going."   
"Oh, are you his agent?" she inquired, taking in Snape's profile with a scowl, almost as if he was not fit to be Gilderoy Lockhart's agent.   
"You could say that." he said with an equally unfriendly scowl on his own face as he led Lockhart away, waving to his unexpected fan.   
"Severus," Lockhart whispered, "what was I like before- you know." Snape laughed softly, although it sounded like it required a great deal of effort.   
"You really want to know?" he said in a low voice. Lockhart nodded; nothing more in his entire life had he ever wanted to know but this.   
"You would only get my bad opinions." he answered simply. Lockhart was confused. That woman couldn't get enough of him, but Snape positively HATED him? It didn't make sense. Perhaps Snape was jealous of his popularity with women! Lockhart seriously doubted the man was married. Who would marry someone who never appeared to wash his hair?   
Lockhart looked up at the place Snape was leading him to, forgetting all about his angry feelings for him. Snape walked over to the secretary, asking for an audience with a Mr. Cornelius Fudge. What an odd name, Lockhart thought. The secretary gestured to the two available seats on her opposite side. The two men took a seat, prepared to wait awhile.   
"Who is Cornelius Fudge?" Lockhart asked, hoping to kill time. Snape looked thoughtful, as if it were a difficult question to answer.   
"He oversees the problems that may come up in the Wizarding Britain. Kind of like running the country smoothly, except in the magical sense." Lockhart nodded slowly.   
"Will he recommend me to a doctor or something?" Snape glared at Lockhart as if he had just suggested that they go jump in a river.   
"Of course not. That's the way a Muggle would handle that kind of a situation. He'll probably suggest you to an Anti-Charmist or something." Snape explained in an even voice.   
There's that word again. He thought. Muggle. What exactly was it?   
Presently the secretary sent them in. Fudge was standing, with his hand clenched in a fist leaning on the desk, sweating profusely. Lockhart studied him hard. A man weighed down by his job, he could see. A man married to his work, not even allowing time for a break.   
"Ah, how do you do, Mr. Lockhart?" Fudge approached him to shake his hand, ignoring Snape completely. "I've been expecting you. Dumbledore told me..." he turned to Snape finally for help.   
"He's lost his memory. I believe it was a Memory Charm's doing." Snape explained. Fudge nodded.   
"Yes, it is a very nasty little Charm, isn't it?" he said. Lockhart watched as Fudge shot his wand and a desk drawer came flying out.   
"Gee, I can never get that one working." Fudge muttered to himself. He went over to the scattered documents and selected a folder from among the mess. Scanning it momentarily, he indicated with an "Aha!" and with his finger the name of a well-known expert on Charm Reversal.   
"Daleza Harelding. He'll fix your problem. Don't worry, we'll have the old Gilderoy Lockhart back in no time." Fudge smiled. Just then, Snape drew Fudge into the corner of the office.   
"I don't know about you, but I would rather not have 'the old Gilderoy Lockhart' back." Snape whispered.   
"Why ever not?" Fudge said in a normal voice. Snape shushed him.   
"You know what he's like... the man's an airhead and a vain one at that. Wouldn't the world be better off without such a useless member of society?" Fudge glanced at Lockhart, who was staring into the pictures again.   
"Yes, but I couldn't stand by and let him remain this way." Fudge said. Snape stood up.   
"Then we'll allow him to gain someone else's identity. And in time, he will actually believe it himself." he declared. Fudge's eyes widened in shock.   
"How dare you even suggest such a thing!" he cried. "I should have you arrested! Get out, you outrageous brute!" Snape glared at Fudge, then at Lockhart, who had glanced up at Fudge's shouting, and left the room in a hurry, slamming the door behind him.   
Lockhart faced Fudge, who was quivering with anger and breathing heavily. When he calmed down, he said to Lockhart, "Tomorrow, I will take you to Mr. Harelding." and turned his back to him, silently suggesting that he wanted to be alone. 


	3. Memory Match

This chapter's a little longer than the other two. That's why it took a little while to do. Plus it starts out boring and I just   
didn't feel the urge to write in a hurry. Without further ado, here it is:   
  
  


Chapter Three: Memory Match 

Lockhart spent the night at the Ministry building, but not in comfort. Fudge had been obviously upset with Snape, so upset that he didn't come out of his office all night. Lockhart had gone outside, around the building, and seated himself on the grass, cooled slightly by approaching dusk. Wrapping his flimsy cloak around his shoulders, he settled down against the wall, sighing heavily.   
It had been a long day. He wished anyone was here; Dumbledore, Harry, Ron, and even Snape. Lockhart tried going to sleep, but for a June evening, it was really chilly. He glanced around for something to cover himself with, and was relieved to find a newspaper floating around. Quickly, he grabbed it and wrapped it around himself, but not without glancing at the headline: 

_Harry Potter slays legendary Basilisk, saves girl_

Lockhart didn't read the article; his head was still swimming with what was happening to him. However, he leaned against the brick wall and fell asleep.   
. . . 

He awoke the next morning, feeling groggy and in need of a shave. Swaying a little, he stood up and realized the sun was only just coming up, but there were people there as there had been yesterday, and just as early. This time, Lockhart talked to them, some, mostly women, of them who recognized him.   
Glancing at his odd watch, he saw it was eight o'clock. He said goodbye to the woman he was talking with, although she would not let him go that easily. When he finally got rid of her, he walked into the Ministry of Magic building and approached the same secretary on duty.   
"Excuse me," he asked, "Would Mr. Fudge be in?"   
"Oh, you're Gilderoy Lockhart, right? He's expecting you, but he's busy right now. Mr. Fudge says you can use his room to get ready." The secretary motioned to a door opposite his office. Lockhart thanked her and made his way toward the room.   
Inside, he found a shower stall, a sofa, and a hot meal all layed out for him. Making a mental note to thank Mr. Fudge for his kindness, Lockhart peeled off his dirty robes and took a nice, long shower. To him, it felt like his worries were draining away, just like the water. When he got out, a strange sight greeted his eyes. The soiled robes he had taken off were neatly folded and smelled of mint.   
After he had dressed, he ate the delicious meal on the table, which included baked potatoes, carrots, as well as various other vegetables, beef, stuffing, and to top it off, a piece of pumpkin pie.   
Just as Lockhart was finishing, Cornelius Fudge entered the room.   
"I trust you're good to go."   
"Yes, I am." And then, remembering his promise, he added, "Thank you for everything." Fudge waved away his thanks.   
"It's the least I could do for you." Lockhart glanced at him again. The least? I've never met him before in my life. But before he could ask any questions, Fudge was waving him toward the exit. Lockhart, expecting another carriage of horses, was very surprised to see a black and white limousine on the Ministry grounds.   
"How do you like it? It's one of those Muggle inventions that they use to get around. I find it fascinating, so I went and bought one. Of course, my Muggle Affairs Minister, Arthur Weasley,   
wouldn't leave it alone for awhile after I got it..." Fudge rambled on.   
Lockhart stared at the contraption; for some reason, it didn't look THAT strange to him as it did to Mr. Fudge. The two got in together. Lockhart was getting anxious now that all this craziness would be over with soon, but something inside was nagging at him. He thought about Harry, Ron, and Snape, who all acted like they had something against him. Perhaps-just maybe- he shouldn't return to his old life; a teacher at Hogwarts. But then, that was cowardly. He couldn't run away because some people didn't like him. No, he would go in with his head held high and confront his own memories with a straight face. That would be the practical thing to do.   
Fudge had a quick conversation with the driver and soon, they were off. Lockhart now felt like he was really in control of his life. It would be a really good feeling to start again, like one did first thing in the morning. He smiled; the first real smile since this ordeal had started. Settling back into his seat, he gazed up at the ceiling.   
Just then, the limo came to an abrupt stop. Lockhart flew ahead, crashing into the seat in front. He felt like such an idiot until he realized that Fudge had been thrown from his seat as well. Fudge picked himself up, slapping his suit for dust, and laughed.   
"Well!" he gasped, "Now I see what the straps are used for!" Lockhart managed a smile at their naivete about seatbelts just as a rap came to their window. Lockhart, knowing what to do now, for they   
had been driving so long he figured out how to use the many buttons and handles, grasped the handle near the door and rolled down the window. The stern face of a police officer greeted them.   
"Okay, bub! I don't know what kind of celeb you're supposed to be, but just 'cause ya drive a limo don't mean you can drive over ninety in the city!" the cop complained as he wrote out a ticket and handed it to Fudge. He looked at it for awhile.   
"My driver is a Muggle like yourself. He would have the kind of money you dear folks accept. So will you please give it to him?" Fudge calmly handed it back. The cop took it and stared at Fudge, wide-eyed.   
"What the hell are you talkin' about?" he screamed, "You people are constantly doin' this-"   
As the cop rambled on, Lockhart had shoved his hands into his pockets and felt something. Pulling it out, he realized somehow that this was what the officer wanted.   
Shoving it over to him, Lockhart said, "Here. Take it and let us go. We'll drive more slowly this time." And with that, he rolled up the window on the astonished police officer's face. As they continued on their way, Fudge stared at Lockhart.   
"Why do you have Muggle money?!" he exclaimed in amazement. Lockhart shrugged.   
"I dunno. It was just in my pocket, I guess." he replied simply.   
"It was lucky you did. I didn't know that these contraptions were only supposed to go a certain speed, so I told Peter to drive quickly. I wonder why you can't go as fast as you like...?" Fudge wondered aloud. Lockhart glanced out the window.   
"Perhaps because there are other cars out there?" Lockhart suggested. Fudge looked out the window.   
"You're quite right. There would most likely be a collision. my boy, you seem to know a great deal about these Muggle folk. Why is that?" Fudge asked. Lockhart couldn't give an answer. He didn't know why.   
. . .   
  
Finally, around noon, they arrived. Lockhart looked around; he didn't see a clinic around here, just shopping malls, hotels, and bars. Fudge and Lockhart climbed out of the limousine and, to Lockhart's great surprise, Fudge led him to the mall. The two attracted some stares from passers-by; what with Lockhart in a long cloak and Fudge in a bright yellow suit, you could hardly blame them. The two of them strode into the drugstore, where Fudge walked to the back.   
"Where on earth are we going?" Lockhart asked anxiously. Fudge stopped in front of a door and, with three taps of his wand(which had been hidden up his sleeve), the door sidled open, and Fudge motioned for him to get inside quickly. Lockhart did so, and the door snapped shut behind him.   
He stared straight ahead, although the transition from the brightly lit drugstore to a dark, cave-like room was hard on his eyes. There were quite a few people here in this dimly lit pit of a room, all with some kind of problem. Lockhart looked around the room, at a wizard with an unusually large head, using both hands to hold it up; a witch holding a screaming child who had   
lost his teeth; an old wizened witch with both of her arms broken, and even a harassed looking bald cat, apparently in hope of a new coat.   
Lockhart looked behind him; where was Fudge? The man was not there. Just as he realized he was alone once again, he felt a wrinkly piece of parchment in his hand. Unfolding it, he realized that it was a note from Fudge. Lockhart, who was getting used to all this weirdness, read it:__

_ Dear Gilderoy,_   
_ Good luck to you._   
_ Fudge_

That was it. Lockhart stuffed the 'lucky' note in his pocket. Who knows, maybe it would bring him luck. It appeared that, in the wizarding world, anything was a good luck charm, and he did not doubt their existence.   
Lockhart took a seat next to a wizard with a bulging cheek, but he didn't sit long for a nurse bustled over to him and took him by the arm.   
"Oh no, dear. You don't sit here. You're going in now. Compliments of Mr. Fudge." Lockhart was glad to follow her, glancing at all the odd characters in the waiting room before he left.   
But he soon(or rather later) discovered that even if you get into the doctor's office, that doesn't mean you don't have to wait for awhile. Lockhart glanced at his watch, and it must have been impatient as well because it read: "SUPPOSED to be being treated at Dr. Daleza Harelding's."   
Just then, the door burst open to reveal a short, out of breath wizard wearing a white cloak and dark robes underneath. He held what looked like a clipboard(an oddly shaped one, if it was even one) and a quill feather. Quickly the tiny man dipped the end of the quill in a bottle of ink and scribbled Lockhart's name on a piece of parchment. Lockhart sat dumbly, waiting for the   
man to notice him.   
Finally, the doctor looked in his direction, adjusted his thick-rimmed glasses, and said, "Lockhart?" He nodded.   
"Memory Charm?" He nodded once again; did he ever speak in full sentences?   
"Charms MDD, Daleza Harelding, at your service." The short man stuck out his hand and Lockhart shook it awkwardly, and very quickly, Dr. Harelding pulled back from him to copy down Lockhart's diagnosis.   
"This should only take a few minutes. We just bring out the Memory Returner, stick it on your head, and let the memories flood back." Dr. Harelding said as he bustled around. Lockhart stared at his hands. Is that all there is to it? The last two days of his life had been so long, filled with the frustration and hopelessness of losing is identity. And now, it would all be fixed... in a matter of minutes. This is good.   
Dr. Harelding stepped out for a minute to bring back the memory device. When he came back, Lockhart's eyes bugged out at the strange machine. It looked like a spaghetti strainer with multicolored wires coming out of the tiny straining holes along the bottom. There were two longer red wires which apparently had to be stuck inside his ears, or so Dr. Harelding explained.   
"Are you ready, Mr. Lockhart?" he asked as he fastened the wires securely in Lockhart's ears.   
"Yes." he replied, and with a flick of his wand, Dr. Harelding sent a simmer of white sparks upon the device atop Lockhart's head. Lockhart closed his eyes, wanting to see images of the memories that he was receiving. 

. . . 

A woman. Standing alone in a field of daisies, the wind playing with her golden hair. She was tall and slim in a white blouse and a long, dark skirt. Lockhart knew, somehow, that he too was in the same field with this woman. He couldn't see her face; her back was turned toward him. As if in a dream, he ran toward her, calling out voicelessly to her, so that she would turn around. Her back stiffened; she must have heard him. As he made his way toward her, she began to turn around. Lockhart stopped feet from her as she finally turned all the way to reveal the most beautiful face he had ever seen. Who was she?   
The woman shook her head and turned her back to him again. He stretched out his hand, inviting her to come to him.   
Just then, a tall man in a velvety cape approached the woman, as if from nowhere. Lockhart wondered how he had appeared so suddenly. The man, whose face he could not see, grabbed the woman in a deep embrace. She made no move against him, even when he leaned forward and kissed her passionately on her lips. But even in that beautiful kiss, there was something missing. Lockhart had no doubt that he loved her, but was the feeling mutual? He could plainly see in that one-sided embrace the feeling of acceptance, especially in the way that she did not struggle against him even though she did not love him.   
Lockhart took a step forward, but the scene in front of him was muddled out. He sank to his knees; What had he just seen? 

. . . 

He squinted as memories continued to flood back to him. People, places, events. The vague memory of the woman in the field was the first one but afterwards came everyday ones: first loose tooth, the names and faces of his family and friends, first year at school. They jumbled up in his mind, as if looking for a spot inside to settle.   
Just as Lockhart was reaching his teenage memories, the Memory Returner started to smoke, as if cooked spaghetti was being run through it once again. Dr. Harelding only noticed when it whistled like a boiling kettle and busted into half and fell right at Lockhart's feet. Lockhart slumped in his chair, his head spinning.   
"Oh dear. I should go fix it. Wait here a moment, my boy." Dr. Harelding grabbed the remnants of the device and scurried out the door, leaving Lockhart to contemplate his new-found memories.   
He tried not to move his head, for fear that he would lose even one precious memory. Why had the machine split in half? His thoughts wandered to the first memory. It didn't seem like a memory, rather a dream. Could the Memory Returner bring back childhood dreams or even... nightmares? That beautiful environment, the even more beautiful woman, even the man's deep show   
of affection...it couldn't be a nightmare. Lockhart tried to push it out of his mind; it was probably just some dream he had as a kid.   
Now he remembered. He was Gilderoy Lockhart, as everyone had told him, but what did that mean to him? He still didn't know what his life career was, or if he was married, or if he had kids. All of his adult memories hadn't returned. It was a start, at least, and once Dr. Harelding fixed the machine, he would receive them.   
Or so he thought. Lockhart rubbed his eyes, and sat for awhile, his eyes closed. Then he heard a click of an opening door and a loud SLAM! of an abruptly closing door. Lockhart jumped and quickly opened his eyes.   
A young girl stood there. She had golden blonde hair, much like his own, a slim body, and a dark tan. She wore a tight white shirt and short shorts, so she obviously was not a nurse's assistant.   
When she saw him, she smiled.   
"Who are you?" Lockhart asked.   
"I've been waiting to see you, my dear brother." she said.   
  


Ah! Another suspenseful ending! I'll post Chapter 4 ASAP!   



	4. Family Reunion

Here's chapter four! It's very 'different' from the other three... well at least I think so. Please enjoy!   
  
  
  
  


Chapter Four: Family Reunion   


Lockhart nearly fell over. Brother? If his memories were truly back, then this 'sister' must be Francesca, Francesca Lockhart.   
"Are you Francesca?" he asked. The grin on her face widened as she jumped up and down, exclaiming, "Yes! Yes! Yes!" She ran over and leaped onto Lockhart's lap, hugging him tightly. So this is my sister, Lockhart thought. She was older than he had remembered her, about age fourteen or fifteen.   
"But don't call me that. You always called me Frannie." she said sternly. Lockhart nodded.   
"I'll try to remember next time." She grinned widely and hugged him again.   
"I'm so glad you're all right and you remember me. When Mr. Fudge sent us that post about how you lost your memory, I was terrified. You know, you're my favourite brother, Gilderoy!"   
Lockhart searched his memory and found that his family consisted of an older and younger brother, Tony and Jevan, and a baby sister, Victoria, as well as Francesca.   
"I'm glad you to see you too." Lockhart patted her on the head, but she yanked back.   
"Don't touch my hair!" she yelled, and Lockhart backed off. She looked angry but when she looked back at him, she softened.   
"I'm sorry. I-I just don't like when people touch my hair." she said, smoothing it down. Lockhart agreed; he didn't either.   
"Let's go! Mother's frantic with worry, she'll want to see you." Frannie grabbed his hand and led him to the door.   
"But Frannie, I haven't gotten all my memories back yet." Lockhart protested. She waved him aside.   
"After exposure to the Memory Returner, one still gets back memories but only one at a time. Once you see our house and your office as well as other places in your life, you'll get thm back faster. Also, you won't muddle your mind. Too much exposure to it can kill your brain cells." Frannie explained.   
"How do you know all this? Do you plan on becoming a doctor?" Lockhart asked. She turned around.   
"Yeah, I do!" she exclaimed. He smiled; what a charming sister he had. They left Dr. Harelding's office, where he glanced a note appear on the door, obviously explaining where he had gone. Frannie stopped in front of the fireplace and dug inside her pocket. When Lockhart saw what she had pulled out, he gained another memory.   
"Floo Powder?" he asked. She nodded.   
"You remember how to do this?"   
"Yeah."   
"Good! Wow, you're so smart, Gilderoy, to be getting back memories so quickly!" Lockhart beamed at his sister, happy for praise rather than pity.   
Frannie threw some inside and shouted, "The Heart of the Lockharts!" The smoke increased and Frannie, after giving some powder to Lockhart, jumped through.   
Lockhart sprinkled some inside the fireplace and said in a loud, clear voice, "The Heart of the Lockharts!" and plunged himself into the fireplace.   
He remembered the familiar feeling of being sucked down a hole, how he had to squint his eyes against the storm of smoke that surrounded him. When he got control of his legs, he leapt toward the direction of the Lockhart fireplace, which was clearly marked by two red hearts on either side of the fireplace. He didn't remember the hearts, but knew that this must be it.   
Lockhart stumbled out of the fireplace, coughing and spluttering. It had been awhile since he had done that, probably because of the ashes that he didn't want in his hair, that stopped him from doing it for awhile.   
Frannie stood in front of him, obviously feeling the same way he did, for she was smoothing out her hair as well. With a final shake of her head, she filled her lungs with air and hollered thus:   
**_"I BROUGHT GILDEROY HOME!!!!"_**   
The cry brought out two young men, one: his older brother, Tony, who clapped him hard on the back as a greeting; his younger brother Jevan, who shook his hand or rather arm. A little girl came in. It was Victoria, but she was no longer a baby, she was at least ten years old. Lockhart held out his arms to her(after getting away from his brothers), and she ran to him. He lifted her up and turned to Frannie.   
"Where's Mother?" he asked.   
"She went out to do the shopping. She doesn't know you're coming, what a surprise it'll be for her!" Frannie ran around the kitchen, yelling, "Our whole family's back together again! I love it!"   
"What about our father?" Lockhart asked. Frannie stopped dead in her tracks; Tony looked down at the tiled floor, and Jevan turned around, hiding his eyes.   
"Our father... died a long time ago of unknown causes. Mother won't tell us how." Tony explained. Lockhart felt ashamed that his memories hadn't reached up to the death of his own father, but now he remembered. His mother would never talk about it and she was not around very often soon after it happened. He really wished that he would receive a memory, especially a sad one, before it had a chance to hurt someone.   
Lockhart looked around. This house was different from most wizard houses and, to change the subject of his father's death, told them so.   
"Yeah!" Frannie perked up straight away. "Our dad was a wizard and our mum was a Muggle so they combined their strengths to make a Wizagle home for us to live in! They gave us the best of both worlds!"   
"A Muggle is a person who can't do magic." Jevan explained, in case Lockhart was wondering.   
"That's probably why I had Muggle money and I knew what a car is." Lockhart thought to himself, as he put Victoria down. Frannie took him by the hand.   
"Look at this!" She pointed to the oven. The door was open. Inside the oven, there was a cake, no doubt for his arrival home. Frannie shut the oven door with her foot and set the temperature.   
"Normally, a cake takes about 20 to 30 minutes to bake in a Muggle oven. But watch-" and she motioned to Tony, who pointed his wand to the door, yelling, "Bakemis Instantaneous!" It grew extremely hot in the kitchen for about two seconds, but then it died down. Frannie put on her gloves and opened the oven door. Lockhart expected a blast of heat but the oven was at room temperature!   
"See? Baked and ready to go!" Victoria said. Lockhart smiled at her. They all applied thick red icing, making many heart shapes across the top. Victoria wrote, 'Welcome home, Gilderoy' on the cake, looking closely to see if she had made a spelling mistake in his name.   
Just then, the sound of a door shutting greeted Lockhart's ears. Turning around, he saw a woman with her arms full of bags of groceries.   
"Surprise! Look, Gilderoy's home and he has most of his memories back!" Frannie exclaimed. His mother smiled as Tony relieved her of some of her bags. Lockhart gazed at his mother. She looked just like the woman in his dream, except that she was a little older, but she was just as beautiful as the girl in his dream. She reached out her arms and Lockhart walked over to her, hugging her.   
"Don't worry about me, Mother." he whispered to her. "I'll get back all my memories, just you wait."   
"As long as you remember me, Gilderoy, you'll never have lost your memory." said his mother. Lockhart looked at her. Her smile was one of relief.   
"Well everyone, let's get some work done to that cake!" Lockhart turned around, beaming at his family, feeling truly at home at last.   
"But we've decorated it enough, Gilderoy!" Jevan said hungrily.   
"Ah... but I mean, make it disappear!" Lockhart winked. The younger kids all smiled.   
. . . 

That night, Lockhart was putting Victoria to bed. As she climbed into her bed, she asked, "Can you read me a story, Gilderoy?"   
"Sure, kiddo." Lockhart groped around for a book, as the room was dark except for a tiny oil lamp on her bedside table. He grabbed a book, which he hoped wasn't too long, and opened it. The book was long, however it was more like an anthology of stories so Lockhart picked one.   
"Here we go. This one's called 'Werewolf Weirdos'." He paused a minute at the strange title, then continued:   
"The dark night descended upon the village like a thick blanket. Fog rolled in from the high mountains as I made my way toward the tiny village in Transylvania, my wand held high so I could see through the misty fog, its light breaking through. As I drew nearer to the village, I heard the cries of the villagers. I ran quickly to their aid, asking what was the matter.   
" 'Oh kind sir!' they said in despair. 'My little boy was bitten by a werewolf and our village leader wants him sent away before he becomes one and, oh! I just can't send him away into that dark forest!' the boy's mother cried out. I couldn't stand it any longer, I exclaimed, 'I know of a cure that can be found in those very woods! And should I meet that werewolf, I shall teach him a thing or two!'"   
Lockhart paused again; _why did this story seem so familiar?_ He continued reading. The hero went into the woods and gathered the wild peony snap violet rose which could be boiled into a potion to cure the unfortunate boy. When he was travelling back to the village with his supplies, the werewolf greeted him along the trail. There was a skirmish and the hero prevailed. He slung the werewolf over his shoulders and continued on his way.   
The hero mixed the potion together, staying up all night to do so, and first thing in the morning, he gave it to the little boy. The bite on his leg vanished and the boy felt as good as new. The hero, being a kind man, gave the potion to the werewolf, curing him as well. His work done, he prepared to leave.   
When asked what his name was, the hero replied, "Gilderoy Lockhart." Lockhart nearly dropped the book. _I wrote this?_ he thought. Then he smiled. _I must be a very vivid storyteller._   
Just then, Victoria giggled. "I like when you read your autobiography." Lockhart turned the book over. 'Wanderings with Werewolves, by Gilderoy Lockhart'. The picture on the front of him smiling looked really cheesy and it, like all the other pictures he had seen, moved. The Lockhart picture winked up at him cheerily, but he turned the book over. How could he embarrass himself like that?   
"Good night, Victoria." He patted her arm and turned out the light. Victoria didn't answer. She was already half asleep. Lockhart crept out of the room quietly, taking 'Wanderings with Werewolves' with him to read in his room.   
Lockhart sat down on his bed and flipped through the book. Not only were there adventures with werewolves in it, but many times, something totally unrelated popped up. For example, Lockhart read, in a story that was supposed to be about a giant werewolf in Italy, that he had bought a very expensive perfume and had curled his hair right before facing the creature. Lockhart continued to flip through. Although there were illustrations, none depicted a battle against a werewolf. Most vividly portrayed himself on a shopping trip or stating obvious facts about himself(with a caption at the bottom, of course), and meetings with famous people for medals on his bravery.   
By the time he finished the book, his mouth was hanging open in disbelief. What a vain, arrogant, full-of-himself snob he had been! He could hardly believe himself. _Maybe it was good that I lost my memory_, he thought. _So I could turn over a new leaf._   
Lockhart sat, trying to remember these adventures he had had, since he had read an adventure, he should remember them all. But nothing came. He couldn't remember it at all. _Maybe they are just stories,_ he thought.   
Just then, he gave a start. Someone was standing in the door frame, watching him. It was his mother. She was smiling.   
"What are you reading, Gilderoy?" she asked.   
"Uh... nothing." He was too embarrassed to show her. She walked over and turned over the cover.   
"'Wanderings with Werewolves'..." she said absently. The smile was gone from her face.   
"Yeah. This book is completely ludicrous, Mother. I couldn't have had all these adventures..." Lockhart said in a rush.   
"I know you didn't..." his mother said, patting him on the leg. She turned, her hair flowing out behind her, and quickly departed the room. Lockhart gazed after her for awhile, then looked down at 'Wanderings with Werewolves'. He threw the book aside and got ready for bed, tightly wrapping the covers over his body.   
  
  


There it is! Will chapter 5 be posted? Please R/R!!! 


	5. The Office

Hi, it's me, hime-chan! Chapter five has finally arrived! Hope you like it.   
  
  


Chapter Five: The Office 

Lockhart awoke the next day, feeling much better rested than the previous two nights. He showered, shaved, and brushed his teeth. He did all this in preparation because today, he would visit his office in town. He knew that he couldn't go back to teaching at Hogwarts; they had already hired a man by name of Remus J. Lupin for the Defence against the Dark Arts job; or so it said in the Daily Prophet, when he sat down to read it.   
Turning the paper over so he couldn't see the editor's annoyingly smiling face anymore, he glanced around at the empty kitchen. Where was everyone? He got up to make himself some toast when his mother burst into the room.   
"Sorry, I'm late, Gilderoy! But I have to get to work now, could you get to work by yourself?" she gasped. He nodded; his mother, Mariah Lockhart, worked as a nurse in London.   
"Mother, where did everyone hurry off to?" Lockhart asked.   
"Oh, Tony went home and- Frannie, Jevan, and Victoria are at school." Mrs. Lockhart said, as she bustled around, getting together a quick breakfast for herself.   
"School? Muggle school or..." Lockhart trailed off, for his mother stopped buttering her toast, her back to him.   
"Those things... are too dangerous to learn. Your father taught you magic; you didn't go to Hogwarts." She bent her head, continuing to make her breakfast. Then she turned around, placing a plate of eggs and toast in front of him.   
"Besides, magic is no good to us anyway. I keep it in the house for the kids' sake, to remember their father, but I don't have anything to do with it." Lockhart gazed at her, but she turned to look at the clock.   
"Oh God, look at the time!" she exclaimed. "Here are the keys." She dug in her purse and tossed him the keys, waving out the door. Lockhart waved back to her, pondering her words.   
. . . 

He wondered if he could still drive. The car was familiar; a light blue colour with many mirrors everywhere, as if the car didn't come with enough. He figured he'd take his time since this was his first time back. Lockhart painstakingly took down all the extra mirrors so he wouldn't be distracted.   
He looked at all the mechanics of the car: the brake, gas, gears, and wheel, he remembered them all. He sat in the driver's seat, getting the feel of the car. Putting on his seatbelt, he started up the car and backed down the driveway. Driving, he now knew, was something not easy to forget.   
Lockhart drove around London. Although he knew where his job was, he couldn't quite find it. I was a publishing company called Saridocian Books Inc., and it had published many of Lockhart's own books, so the address was right on them.   
Finally, he spotted the familiar landmark; the small bar on the corner of his street. He parked in the bank's lot which, luckily, didn't have any parking metres. Lockhart strode down the street in the direction of the bar, the Leaky Cauldron, fitting in perfectly with the Muggle crowd this time in his long, dark blue coat and his business suit.   
Lockhart swung the door open wide, smiling at the people inside the bar. They waved at him hastily, but he didn't realize that it was because they wanted him to shut the door so the Muggles wouldn't see.   
"Hello, good people!"   
"Shut the door, dummy!" He looked behind him and sheepishly, pushed the door shut. Lockhart tried to casually walk up to the barman, but it was hard with most of the people's eyes upon him.   
"Ogden's Old Firewhisky, please." he said, pushing up his hat far enough so that the barman could see his eyes. The barman, still a little annoyed at his entrance, did as he asked with little talk.   
Lockhart sat down at a table, off from everyone else, since the bar was mostly empty that time of morning. When he was settled for a minute, he looked up to see if everyone had stopped staring at him yet. Everyone was minding his own business now. Lockhart sighed. Maybe he was just a little too self-conscious in public still. He sipped slowly on his drink and through his glass, he noticed someone looking at him.   
Putting down his glass, he could get a better look. It was a man, with longish, dark hair that hung in his eyes. He was young, about his own age, maybe younger. His build was lean, but strong, Lockhart could see in how he carried himself, even in the way he held his glass. The young man didn't seem to car that Lockhart was staring at him. He swished his drink around, taking sips now and then, never taking his eyes off Lockhart.   
He glanced around. No one else was looking at him. He checked his hair. Okay. His shirt was tucked in, no problem there. So what was wrong? Lockhart quickly finished his drink and slipped on his coat, leaving a tip. The young man, Lockhart could see out of the corner of his eye, continued to look at him and he was glad to get out of there, out the back entrance.   
The bricks. He had to get into Diagon Alley somehow. As he gazed at the bricks, he noticed that three of them had a dark spot on them. He tapped them with his fingernail and the wall opened, revealing Diagon Alley in all its splendour.   
Lockhart took in the sights with a fresh eye. He strode down the alley, nodding and tipping his hat to people, asking for directions to Saridocian Publishing. At the end of Diagon Alley, they said to him. Turn left onto Kelkemia Alley and you'll find it, no problem.   
The massive white building that was Saridocian Publishing stood beckoning to Lockhart to come inside. At first, he could not, being in awe of the structure. Only when some people brushed against him did he make his way into the building, clutching his briefcase against his body.   
Lockhart stepped into the main foyer, gazing at the familiar sight of people bustling along on their own business, paying him no mind. He didn't mind though; in fact he preferred it, the idea of being lost in a crowd and not being watched over by some authority figure. After all, this was his business, wasn't it? He was his own boss, although the idea still seemed unbelievable to him.   
So he made his way up to the top floor, where his office was located. Many of his employees seemed happy to see him. In fact, they seemed excited. Apparently, they told him, while Lockhart had been teaching at Hogwarts, the fill-in supervisor had been absolutely unbearable. Lockhart continued up to his office, which took a while considering the distance.   
Finally Lockhart reached the door on which the words, "G. Lockhart' were outlined in a golden plaque. Taking a deep breath, he unlocked his office door and stepped inside.   
What was inside nearly blew him away. The immense amount of pictures of his own face startled him so much, he turned his back to them, leaning against the door frame. He would take them down at once. After taking off his coat and hanging it up, Lockhart rolled up his sleeves and grabbed his wand.   
"Wingardium Leviosa!" he chanted, stepping back with the wastebasket in his hands. The pictures flew directly into it, some of the Lockhart picture giving him looks of disgust as they did.   
Setting the wastebasket down, which was full to the brim with the discarded pictures, he settled down at his desk, getting the feel of the atmosphere of his office.   
The walls weren't a bad colour; an azure blue. Lockhart felt it had a calming effect on him, especially when compared to the starchy white of Cornelius Fudge's office, which gave the feeling of stiffness to the whole environment. No, this must be his office. There were many potted plants, some which hung overhead from the ceiling, leaning toward the huge window which took up the entire expanse of the wall behind his desk. The filing cabinets stood to his left, perfectly alphabetized. (Lockhart made a mental note to go through the titles later) There was a tan coloured sofa on his right with a coffee table in front, giving his office a homey look. He knew he would enjoy all his time here.   
Lockhart settled back in his chair, thinking about what project he would begin first. Maybe he would tell his fill-in supervisor off for being so overbearing toward everyone... No, that would make him quick to judge, and he didn't want that, not when people had been kind enough not to judge him.   
He stood up, walking over to the 'A' section of the filing cabinets. Drawing it open, he saw an index of titles of the books his company had published since their opening five years ago. As he flipped through the index, he saw that many of the works published had been satirical or autobiographical in nature. Lockhart pulled out a final draft of the satire, "Much Ado about the Dark Arts", written by Peter Periwinkle.   
Lockhart sat at his desk, flipping the draft to the first page, and a laugh escaped his lips. The first page has a hilarious picture of a very distraught wizard chasing after a tiny baby wrapped up in a thick blanket. Although the picture was illustrated, it still moved adding to the humour of the picture. Lockhart's eyes drifted to the bottom of the page, where the caption explained this political cartoon.   
'Our Dark Lord, He Who Must Not Be Named, Written, or Read, the brilliant mastermind who managed to gather hundreds if not thousands in his name, the most powerful wizard of the modern age who killed those who stood against him, aiming to conquer the entire world with his Dark Magic, He was helpless against a tiny baby, son of James and Lily Potter, Harry Potter'. Harry Potter. The boy with the red, lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. The boy who slew the Basilisk. Lockhart continued reading.   
'What should we make of this? Infants do not have magic at all in their veins. One of the greatest mysteries of our age, still remains unsolved.' Lockhart flipped through the book for more information on the 'Dark Lord'. It did not take him long. Apparently, this wizard was a very menacing character who still invoked fear into people's hearts even today, justifying that fact that his name was not spoken or even written.   
Lockhart flipped to a photograph of the Dark Lord. he was not very impressive as he was often described in the passages of this book, in fact he looked quite ordinary. He had a majestic air to him though, standing tall in his black robes with his hands folded on top of each other importantly. He stared at the photograph, so long that his vision began to blur. He could still see the picture but the colours were all wrong. The background went from the smoky grey of an industrial city to the blue expanse of a wide sky. White petals flew around the photograph... a woman...   
"Excuse me." Lockhart snapped his head up to look at the unexpected guest. The young man from the Leaky Cauldron! He held a small briefcase in his left hand as he walked over to Lockhart's desk. Lockhart stood up quickly to shake the young man's hand.   
"Welcome to Saridocian Publishing." Lockhart greeted him. The man had a strong grip; it made Lockhart's fingers itch.   
"Yes, how do you do, Mr. Lockhart. My name is Vance Gilmour." His voice was low and ver to-the-point, but Lockhart had no trouble hearing him. He put down his briefcase on Lockhart's desk and opened it up. He handed Lockhart an envelope.   
"I would like to apply for the position of personal assistant. If you would care to look at my resume." Vance gestured his hand toward the briefcase and toward the envelope.   
Still unsure what exactly a 'personal assistant' did, or even if he had placed an ad for one, Lockhart opened the envelope, quickly scanning this man's history, experience, and references.   
This Vance Gilmour was apparently raised in an orphanage, but that didn't stop him from getting an excellent education, in both magic and Muggle universities. As for work experience, he had twice before worked as an assistant to his previous employers, who were on his references sheet. As Lockhart looked down the references, his eyes could not believe one of the names: Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.   
He glanced up at Vance, who was considering him with a slight smile on his lips. Anyone whom Professor Severus Snape recommended HAD to be pretty good.   
"Well, Vance, you have some, 'a-hem' good references and work experience. How well are you at following tasks?" Lockhart questioned, placing the resume back on his desk. Vance sat up in his chair, one of his hands lingering under his chin.   
"I follow my employer much like a leader." Vance stated simply, not taking his deep, dark eyes off Lockhart. Lockhart began to feel hot. He loosened his collar, placing his tie on the back of his chair.   
"Do you find it warm in here? I'll go open a window." Lockhart stood up and opened one of the many windows that made up the one huge window. The he heard the scraping of a chair and clicking of a closing briefcase.   
"If you would like to get in contact with me, Mr. Lockhart, please use the phone number on my resume. I cannot be reached by the various magical devices and spells of today." Vance said in parting. Lockhart kept his hand on the window, not caring that he was smudging it. The door closed behind him. Lockhart sighed.   
Standing near the window, he soon realized the chill of the day and closed the window. He returned to his desk, which was now scattered with the paper of the draft he was reading, and Vance's resume and letters of recommendation. Instead of sitting at his desk to read them, Lockhart took a seat on his sofa. He read Snape's letter first: 

_It gives me great pleasure_(Ha! Lockhart scoffed)_ to write a letter of reference for Mr. Vance D. Gilmour. Rarely have I seen such a student as Vance, so hard-working and conscientious. A young man eager to please, Vance always ensures that work is done and done right. He had never failed me at any of his tasks, completing them with a respect for authority as such I have never seen the like of before. In addition to his swiftness in finishing what is assigned him, he is a caring, kind individual whim I would gladly recommend to anyone with half a brain._   


_ Sincerely,_   
_ Severus Snape_   
_ Potions Master Hogwarts School_

That certainly seemed, to Lockhart at least, the way Snape would end a letter, even a formal one such as this. Well, definitely, he would think this over. It would be a good idea to have a helper for awhile, until he got settled into a routine at least. Vance was polite enough, but Lockhart still felt a little edgy. Perhaps he was moving a little too fast, starting to hire already, but maybe...   
. . . 

They all gathered at the dinner table: Frannie, Victoria, Jevan, and their mother, and he took his place. He didn't feel like eating much; the decision still hung over his head like a storm cloud. Idly, he pushed the peas around on his plate as Frannie told the story of how her legs got stuck in the skipping rope during phys. ed class and she nearly broke her ankle when she fell to the ground, giving a pleasant laugh at her clumsiness.   
"What's wrong, Gilderoy?" asked his mother. Lockhart looked up. His entire family was staring at him.   
"You haven't even starting eating yet." He looked down at the large pile of potatoes, carrots, and peas pushed to the corner of his plate.   
"I'm sorry. I'm just not hungry. I should have told you before. I'm sorry." Lockhart excused himself, stood up and made his way to the den.   
"Gilderoy, is everything all right?" His mother stood up.   
"No, no, Mother. I just remembered that I had to make a phone call, that's all." Lockhart quickly departed the kitchen, leaving his puzzled family to finish their dinner.   
He put his hand on the receiver; he took it away. He was in his room, thinking that maybe he would feel more calm in private. Why did he feel so nervous? This was the first major decision he had to make since the Memory Charm incident, of course her would be nervous about something like that. With that thought in mind, he picked up the receiver, letting the tone sound in his ear for a moment. Slowly, he punched in the numbers, making sure he heard every beep.   
The phone rang. It was answered on the second ring.   
"Yes?"   
"Hello... Vance...?" Lockhart replied.   



	6. First Meeting

Wow, Chapter six! This story is progressing little by little, so now here it is!   
  


Chapter Six: First Meeting 

Lockhart made the announcement at breakfast the next morning.   
"I've decided to go back to my own apartment." he said, taking in their surprised looks with a cheerful eye.   
"So soon, Gilderoy?" Mrs. Lockhart said, midway through spooning out oatmeal for Victoria. He nodded.   
"Because you know, we'll let you stay as long as you want." His mother gestured toward his siblings, and they nodded fervently in agreement.   
"Thanks for the offer, but I need to get back on my own two feet." Lockhart replied, getting to his feet. As he took a step toward the door, he felt something heavy attached to his leg. Looking down, he saw Victoria clinging onto him.   
"Don't go..." she whined.   
"Victoria!" his mother said in astonishment.   
"Don't you worry, Vicky. I'll be the number one visitor to this household." At his words, Victoria let go of him, with a small wave as he grabbed his suitcase next to the kitchen door.   
"And that first visit will be tonight!" he declared as he put on his coat and his hat.   
"No, we'll visit you!" Jevan stated, waving his fork in a farewell manner. With a final wave, Lockhart left the room.   
His hand was on the doorknob just as he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning around, he saw his mother.   
"I need to ask you something." she asked in a low voice. "Does this sudden move have anything to do with last night?" Lockhart couldn't answer. What did she mean? Then he remembered.   
"Oh no, Mother. I just wanted to get out on my own again."   
"What was wrong last night?" she asked.   
"I was just-" he started.   
"Just what?" Her grip on his shoulder tightened.   
"I was just deciding whether or not to hire a personal assistant, that's all." He shrugged, and she let her hand fall to her side.   
"Oh, is that all? Did you?"   
"Yeah, maybe you can meet him later." Lockhart smiled, turning the doorknob and leaving the house. He decided he would go to his apartment first, since he had woken up early due to a dream about its whereabouts. Besides, bosses could be late every once in a while, couldn't they?   
His dreams helped him a great deal in recovering memories, however, the only problem was that he didn't know when they would all be back. Was there a sign, like a green light that meant OK, similar to the one he was driving under?   
He pondered these ideas as he drove, knowing the way to his apartment. It was not in the urban part of the city, rather it was in a more suburban setting. Lockhart was glad. A blue sky was much more calming to see than a grey, smoky sky of London.   
At his apartment door, he groped under the doormat, which displayed "Welcome" in big block letters, for a key and, discovering it to be not there, checked the top of the door frame. It was not there. Great. Then he remembered that he had magically enchanted the knob to his touch. Grasping the knob, he found it opened easily in his own hand.   
His prediction of the room, based on his old personality, hit the bull's eye dead on. Many pictures of himself, and face creams, as well as hair care products. Lockhart calmly took down the pictures, replacing them with pictures of his family. The face creams and hair care products however, he would give them to his mother. He figured his hair looked great anyway so he didn't need all of this stuff. He set his suitcase on his bed, so he would open it when he went home after work. After re-enchanting the doorknob, he left for work.   
When he walked into his office, his hat was removed from his head. Looking to his left, he saw Vance standing there, putting the hat on the hanger.   
"Good morning, Mr. Lockhart. I trust you had a good night with your family and are ready yo get down to business now." Vance greeted him. Lockhart shrugged off his coat, hanging it up as well.   
"I'm not too keen on business today, Vance. I was thinking of poring over old drafts again, if you can call it business. Um, what time did you get here?" Lockhart turned to the young man.   
"Six this morning, sir. I try always to make it anywhere early so I'll have time to do my work." he replied.   
"Well, buddy, we're not going to work today, how does that sound?" Lockhart clapped Vance on the back, almost knocking the slender man to the ground.   
"Not work? I could not imagine-"   
"Well imagine it as a reality."   
"But sir-"   
"You don't need to be so formal, Vance. Just call me Gilderoy." Lockhart reassured him.   
"That wouldn't be right, sir."   
"Oh, I'll get through to you and when I do-" Lockhart sailed his hand through the air, pushing Vance gently, "-you won't know what hit you." To his amazement, Vance smiled, rubbing the place where Lockhart had pushed him.   
"This will just be a day for us both to get used to the surroundings. You know, I've been teaching at Hogwarts for the past year, so I'm a bit rusty myself." Lockhart pushed aside the papers on the sofa and sat down.   
"You look tired." he observed as Vance shakily sat down in the chair across from him, "When did you get to sleep last night?"   
"I'm not one for sleep, Mr. Lockhart."   
"Well, if you're as keen on taking orders as your resume says, I'm telling you to get a good night's sleep every night, even if you have to be late to do it." Lockhart instructed.   
"You're different from my other employers." Vance remarked thoughtfully. Lockhart raised his eyebrows.   
"In a good or bad way?"   
"Well, for one thing, ordering me to be late for my own sake is, how shall I say, different from Mr. Snape's methods."   
"Listen here. Snape and I are as different as night and day, him being night. I should know, he was one of my colleagues." Lockhart grated, leaning back in the sofa. "How about your other employers?"   
"They were similar." Vance stated.   
"Well, I certainly won't be. Today, we talk."   
"About what subject, sir?"   
"Oh, I don't know- yourself." At these words, Vance looked down at his feet, losing eye contact. Then he spoke.   
"There... is not much information about that topic, Mr. Lockhart." he said in a low rush. Lockhart leaned over, trying to get an idea of the expression on his face.   
"Ah, that's baloney. Everyone has an interesting story of his own to tell. Even you." Vance lifted his head and gazed at him with a look of astonishment. Lockhart nodded to assure him that his words were believable.   
"There are some things, Mr. Lockhart, that I cannot tell you about myself. In fact, you already know more about me than any of my employers did." Vance tried to smile, but was unsuccessful.   
"Hey, that makes me Number One then, doesn't it? All right now, where are those drafts? Let's look over them so we can both get some idea of what is usually published here. I'm surprised no one's come to me with a new draft yet." Lockhart stood up and selected one from the filing cabinet.   
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Vance hadn't budged an inch. His hands were up to his face, as if he were crying, but Lockhart knew he was rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. Lockhart rolled his eyes.   
"You're exhausted." He went over to Vance, lifting his head up to look in his face. It was true. His eyes were turning a deep purple and when Lockhart let go of his face, his head flopped down again.   
"I'll murder Snape if he ordered work from you in this condition. Go home and sleep right now. I hope you didn't have any coffee." Vance shook his head.   
"Tell you what. I'll drive you home." He got on his coat and hat and Vance did as well.   
** . . .**

On the drive to Vance's house, Lockhart asked for directions, commenting on the treatment of working people these days in the wizard world.   
"I hear that Muggles treat working people with much more respect than we do. People who put in a hard day's work are looked up to. They also get benefits such as Worker's Compensation, if they get hurt on the job, Retirement Benefits for when they are too old to work..." Lockhart compared the two groups. Vance listened patiently. When he finished speaking, he spoke up.   
"I respect the Muggle community in that they are creative geniuses. I have incorporated many of their brilliant inventions into my own home. We have a great deal to learn from these people rather than pass them off as silly fools."   
"You sound like one of my students from Hogwarts... who was it- Hermione Granger. She was a brilliant student." Lockhart commented as he pulled into Vance's driveway. It was a pretty house, although rather small, with two gardens enclosed in a fence in the backyard. It had a white finish with a black tiled roof, making it the brightest house for a few blocks. It was funny, but the house didn't seem to suit Vance's personality. Lockhart, brushing away that thought, knew that everyone kept a little something hidden, even from close friends. For example, himself. He didn't want everyone to know that he had accidentally lost his memory just so his reputation as a famous 'hero' wouldn't be ruined.   
Stepping out of the car, Vance entered his house with Lockhart close behind. However, Lockhart stood at the entrance of the house, calling out more instructions.   
"And remember to eat a good breakfast before you come back. If you don't, I'll fire you. Is that clear?" Lockhart felt a lot like a mother with all this lecturing. Vance must have thought so too, because he was laughing. What a silvery laugh. It sent chills up his spine.   
"See you later. Hey, wait a minute." Lockhart was hit with a sudden idea. "Why don't you come over to my place for awhile?" Vance turned around, for he had just started to go upstairs.   
"Your home?"   
"Yeah, why not? I saw your, you should see mine." Lockhart came into the house, grabbing a pad of paper from his pocket.   
"Here's the address. How about five tonight? Hopefully, you'll be rested up for it, right?" Lockhart handed the paper to Vance, who took it hesitantly.   
"See ya. I'm going back to work." Lockhart waved out the door, catching a glimpse of Vance waving shyly back.   
** . . .**

Lockhart pored over three drafts that afternoon, although his mind was not full on them. He wondered if Vance would come over, or if he had just looked at the pad of paper and tossed it aside. Lockhart knew it was only the first day, but he felt close to Vance, like he had known him for a long time. But that just couldn't be. He didn't know him THAT well,... or did he? After all, it was his own idea to invite Vance over to his house, since Vance never made any attempt to start a conversation. But why had he done it? Why had he blurted out that he wanted a visitor tonight? And of all people, Vance? Lockhart must have really wanted company, and now in his mind, he was going over preparations for Vance's upcoming visit; what they would talk about, do, and eat for dinner, to name a few. As five o'clock drew nearer, he felt himself growing more unexpectedly anxious.   
In his apartment, he wrung his hands together nervously, his tie loose about his neck, his shoes off, and his vest thrown onto the sofa. He had prepared an Italian meal for the two of them, and it was waiting patiently on the table for Vance's arrival, as was Lockhart.   
Promptly at five o'clock, the doorbell rang. Lockhart, who had been preparing a greeting, dropped it when he opened the door, saying, "Even for a visit you're on time. Well, come on in." Vance gazed around at Lockhart's apartment, his eyes falling and resting on the meal in front of him.   
"So..." said Lockhart as he hung up Vance's coat, "would you like to eat first?"   
"It would be better not to let the food get cold."   
"If you mean yes, then just say so!" Lockhart joked as they sat down. As they ate, they compared their houses' appliances. The two men both, apparently, enchanted their doorknobs to their touch only. Lockhart talked about the magical oven that he had, an idea of his father's, that would bake in an instant. Vance described how he could use his wand to make the Muggle light bulbs never wear out.   
"We both do the same thing!" Lockhart exclaimed. "We use magic to improve Muggle inventions."   
"Muggle people are very inventive, but their products always wear out or break down. Wizards should be trying to help them, rather than hiding away from the world. The world's in dire need of our help. In order to power their inventions, Muggles are polluting the air, sea, and the land itself. If we could give them magic to power their machines, do you realize how it would improve our Earth's health?" Vance looked straight at Lockhart, knowing that he was right.   
"I've never thought about that before. You're right, it is something to be considered by the Ministry of Magic." Lockhart said as he cleared the dishes away. As he came back to sit down with Vance, he heard him still talking about it.   
"I think wizards are being selfish in keeping their magic to themselves. What do you think?"   
"I don't know. Some people in the Muggle world are strictly religious and still fear wizards and witches as much as their ancestors feared ours. But I think it will get better as time goes on. It will take people like us, half-borns, to talk to them." Lockhart stated with a grin.   
"What makes you think I'm a half-born?" Vance looked offended. Lockhart felt stupid.   
"I-I don't know." Lockhart stuttered, "I just assumed that since you know about Muggles, you were. I'm sorry if you aren't." Vance let out a sigh.   
"That's all right. Besides, if I was, I wouldn't know. I never knew my parents."   
Just then, there was a knock on the door and the sounds of someone struggling to hold something.   
"I'm not expecting anyone." Lockhart mused, standing up to answer the door. "Unless- oh, I completely forgot that I invited my family over tonight!" He smacked his forehead at his forgetfulness.   
"Perhaps I could meet them." Vance said, standing up as well.   
"Maybe..." Lockhart opened the door. Only his mother, carrying a warm pot of casserole, looking very flustered, stood there.   
"Hello, Gilderoy. I brought you this, you know, a 'settle-in' gift. I can't stay too long, Victoria will be home from choir at six and the house will be empty and- Ah!" Mrs. Lockhart dropped her casserole and Lockhart had to catch it, the contents burning his skin.   
She stared straight ahead as if there were a train coming her way and her foot was stuck in the tracks. Lockhart set the casserole on the table, nursing his burn under the tap. He glanced back at his mother, whose expression hadn't changed. Then, with much strain, she swallowed and managed to say,   
"I didn't know you had a guest." She barely made a whisper as she breathed each word with effort.   
"Yeah, I should have told you." Lockhart motioned for Vance to come closer, and as he did, he introduced him.   
"Mother, this is Vance Gilmour. Vance, this is my mother, Mariah Lockhart." he said. Vance looked from Lockhart, his eyes wavy in the candlelight that had been lit not long ago, to Mariah with a smile playing on his dark features.   
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Lockhart." he stooped down on one knee, taking her hand and laying a kiss on it. He stood up, his face close to Mariah's. She took a few steps back, holding the hand he kissed in her other one, not taking her eyes off Vance's face. Then she whispered.   
"Yes, hello, Mr. Gilmour. It's nice to meet you after- Oh!" She stood up straight. "I must go, I- Victoria's going to be home now, I should be there- Gilderoy, enjoy the casserole. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Gilmour." Quickly, she picked up her purse and hurried out the door, closing it curtly behind her.   
"Mother..." Lockhart looked at the shut door, not understanding why his mother had been so jumpy.   
"I'm sorry if my presence disturbed her." Vance said out of nowhere. Lockhart spun around.   
"No, it wasn't you! I don't know what's gotten into her... but I know she likes you!" Lockhart turned toward the door.   
"I hope..." he thought to himself. 


End file.
